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this is a touch prayer, praying for you. wish you were here. wish i was too.
After the self-indulgence of black moods, I inevitably wake with pillows on the floor, sheets disturbed, unrested, but better. I remember vague, frantic dreams. My demons are fought in sleep.
Yesterday I woke with cool humid air breathing through the window on my grateful, sweaty skin. Things were rightside up again. My mother took me shopping at the Big Mall Soon to be Biggest (and lord, the plans I've seen for the place! It's insanity. Someday malls will replace the cities. It's what they're stiving to do, I think, create entire corporate-owned societies with shiny borders of glass and steel.)
I have said this many times. I adore H&M. My mother bought me pretty clothes. I felt very spoiled, though I did not object.
Another restless night. Today was scheduled father-time, and so I drove my little beige vehicle up the highway to the city by the lake, detouring through my old hometown to see the familiar roads and landmarks, swallowing down the brief pain of nostalgia. In Oswego the lake was sparkling, and I gaped. I forget how beautiful it is.
We visited my grandparents in their tiny retirement community apartment; I brought my grandmother a potted gerbera daisy, red, which doesn't go at all with their brass and china decor but which spoke of her so completely. Bright, vivid, alive. She is a strange and amazing woman.
Yesterday I woke with cool humid air breathing through the window on my grateful, sweaty skin. Things were rightside up again. My mother took me shopping at the Big Mall Soon to be Biggest (and lord, the plans I've seen for the place! It's insanity. Someday malls will replace the cities. It's what they're stiving to do, I think, create entire corporate-owned societies with shiny borders of glass and steel.)
I have said this many times. I adore H&M. My mother bought me pretty clothes. I felt very spoiled, though I did not object.
Another restless night. Today was scheduled father-time, and so I drove my little beige vehicle up the highway to the city by the lake, detouring through my old hometown to see the familiar roads and landmarks, swallowing down the brief pain of nostalgia. In Oswego the lake was sparkling, and I gaped. I forget how beautiful it is.
We visited my grandparents in their tiny retirement community apartment; I brought my grandmother a potted gerbera daisy, red, which doesn't go at all with their brass and china decor but which spoke of her so completely. Bright, vivid, alive. She is a strange and amazing woman.